Who's Singin' Over There? (1980)
The 5th of April 1941 was, by any measure, an ordinary Saturday in Belgrade. By the following morning, German, Italian and Hungarian forces had begun their invasion of Yugoslavia, and the country's brief, turbulent existence as a unified kingdom was effectively over. It is into that narrow sliver of unknowing calm, that last ordinary day before catastrophe, that Slobodan Šijan sets his debut feature. The premise is almost theatrical in its simplicity: a battered bus, a Serbian country road, a handful of strangers with nowhere better to be, and a destination that history is about to make irrelevant. The irony is worn lightly, but it is always there, sitting in the back seat.
Šijan was a young director working within the Yugoslav state film system when he made this picture for Centar film, and it announced him as one of the more distinctive comic voices to emerge from the region in that era. He would follow it with two further comedies, The Marathon Family (1982) and How I Was Systematically Destroyed by an Idiot (1983), consolidating a reputation for dry, socially observant humour that sat comfortably alongside the broader wave of Yugoslav Black Wave cinema without quite belonging to it. This film is lighter in touch than that movement tended to be, more interested in warmth than provocation, though it is never naive about what it is doing. There is no source novel or stage play behind it; the screenplay, by Dušan Kovačević, is original, and the script is the thing. Kovačević had already written The Marathon Family and would later pen the source material for Kusturica's Underground (1995), and his fingerprints are all over this film's particular brand of absurdist, humanist comedy.
The ensemble assembled to populate that rattling bus is a genuine pleasure on paper and, as it turns out, in practice too. Pavle Vuisić, a veteran of Yugoslav cinema and theatre with a career stretching back to the 1950s, brings effortless authority and pathos to the role of the old soldier. Dragoslav Nikolić and Aleksandar Berček round out a cast that balances broadly comic types with enough specificity to make each passenger feel like a real person rather than a sketch. Neda Arnerić, one of the more recognisable faces in Yugoslav popular cinema of the period, gives the film a touch of lightness and charm. And then there is Danilo "Bata" Stojković, whose deadpan, bone-dry comic timing was well established by 1980, having appeared in dozens of Yugoslav productions across two decades. If you have spent any time with Emir Kusturica's work or the warmer end of Eastern European comedy, something like Time of the Gypsies (1988) for instance, this cast will feel immediately familiar in the best possible way. The film is also a useful companion piece for anyone whose interest in Yugoslav cinema was sparked by something altogether more operatic, and who is now working backwards through the tradition it came from.
I’ll be the first to admit that a 1980s rural Slavic road trip movie isn’t exactly my usual Friday night viewing. But Slobodan Šijan’s 1980 picture Who’s Singin’ Over There? is a genuinely endearing surprise. Trapped on a rickety, smoke-belching bus heading towards Belgrade on the eve of the Second World War, a wonderfully eccentric cross-section of Yugoslav society is forced into close quarters. What could have easily devolved into a claustrophobic, cynical character study instead blossoms into a remarkably warm, highly engaging slice of cinema.
The secret weapon here is the humour. It’s incredibly dry, a trait I’m finding quite common in the cinema of the former Eastern Bloc, but it translates perfectly to this British viewer some 45 years later. The jokes don’t rely on slapstick or modern, hyper-kinetic pacing; they stem from the sheer, absurd friction between these mismatched passengers. Fair play to the ensemble cast, particularly Danilo Stojković, who plays the perpetually exasperated bus driver with a brilliant, deadpan stoicism that beautifully anchors the chaos unfolding around him.
Then there is the music, which is absolutely awesome. The film features a pair of Romani musicians who provide a lively, running soundtrack to the journey. I’ll be honest, I was initially bracing myself for the constant, repetitive plucking of the "mouth twang" instrument to grate on my nerves. Instead, Šijan uses it as a stroke of comedic genius. Its persistent, twanging presence becomes a running gag in itself, highlighting the sheer absurdity of the situation rather than annoying the audience. It’s a cracking creative choice that gives the film a uniquely infectious, off-kilter rhythm.
This is a charming, character-driven gem that proves you don’t need a massive budget or explosive set pieces to craft a truly memorable film. Šijan has captured a specific time and place with immense affection and a sharp, observant eye. It’s a highly watchable, effortlessly funny road movie that stays with you long after the bus finally reaches its destination.
At 86 minutes, Who's Singin' Over There? is a modest, focused piece of filmmaking, polished but unremarkable on a technical level, and entirely unconcerned with that fact. What it offers instead is the pleasure of good company on a short journey, the feeling that the people on screen were worth spending time with. That it all ends where history insists it must end gives the comedy a retrospective ache, the kind that lingers in a way that pure farce rarely does. It is the sort of film that tends to find its audience slowly, passed between people who stumble across it and feel quietly glad they did. Sometimes the bus just has to reach its stop.
Rating: ★★★½ | Year: 1980 | Watched: 2026-07-29
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